


$10 says you're wrong

by BeBunny



Series: All bets are off [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony plays a prank on Steve it's only meant to get a rise out of him, however it only serves to throw into light just how out of place Steve feels. Natasha is the one to see it for what it really is, but is there anything she and Clint can do to help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	$10 says you're wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsetmog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/gifts).



> For Sunsetmog, hoping she has a better day. 
> 
> This dynamic has eaten my brain, never thought it could work but it seems to now own my heart. I'm hoping I can write more in this verse.

Steve Rogers loves the internet. It took him a while to grasp the complexities of the system, some of the language is beyond him, even now. Coulson was patient as he showed him the basics, how to search for information, where reliable sources were, how to access various news sites. Navigating wasn’t the hard part, the challenge was email.  
If someone opens the browser for him and leaves him to it, he spends far too much time trying to catch up on a life less ordinary. Hours trawling Wikipedia and Youtube for cultural clues, bands he missed, movies he missed, queueing up an inexhaustible list on net-flicks. He stops seeking Coulson’s help with email though when the involuntary exasperated noise he makes when Steve shuts the window instead of minimising for the umpteenth time cuts just a little too close to the bone. His saviour, oddly enough, is Bruce. 

SHIELD memos come via email or to their phones more often than not, as much as Steve would prefer ‘hard copies’ as the office staff like to call them. A half an hour lecture from a very irate Pepper on the Earth’s resources and unnecessary printing had him scurrying to the lab looking for someone else to take him through it just one last time so he didn’t have to bother Coulson again. Bruce is patient and more than a little kind and the third time Fury sends a file through email rather than just a message Bruce barely has to prompt him. 

“Congratulations Buddy, I think you have it down!” He says, clapping Steve on the back on the way past. Steve dangles his legs off the foot support of the stool in the lab and tries very hard not to feel ten years old. 

The news spreads round the tower ridiculously fast, and it’s not long before he’s enduring only slightly sarcastic congratulations. They mean well he knows, they were the same when Clint had hit the pinpoint target he’d been trying for for months, blindfolded. Everyone knew no one else could have made that shot with their eyes wide open. 

So it takes an hour for everyone to know that Captain America finally beat email. 

It takes less than an hour for Tony Stark to take advantage. 

~*~

He knows his face doesn’t disguise the horror that must be written there when Clint raps smartly on his door and blinks owlishly at him rather than just coming right in. 

“What did someone finally show you two girls one cup?” He asks and Steve doesn’t get the reference. “Never mind,” Clint says, “Uh, don’t look that up.” 

Steve can feel the tips of his ears flush red and hot as he grapples for the mouse, desperate to minimilise, minitise…whatever, the screen before Clint can see it. It’s futile though, Hawkeye’s smarter than that. He laughs when he peers over Steve’s shoulder. 

“Aww it’s just regular porn!” he says and Steve kinda hates him, just a little. 

“Who?”

“Stark.” 

“Man, give the guy credit for showing restraint.” Clint says brightly. “There’s far more….”

“I really don’t want to know Barton.” Steve says. 

Clint’s apologetic though and makes a swift exit, dodging around the edge of the desk and fleeing the death glares that Steve is shooting at the screen.

 

~*~

 

It’s late, or maybe early. The city lights are nothing short of beautiful against the darkness from this high up. The tower never sleeps, just shifts and ebbs with the clock and Steve knows without looking down the vertigo inducing glass slope that many floors below are still lit, albeit with dimmer switches for tired eyes. They’re relatively alone up here though, so close to living quarters, their own space, free from paperwork and research and delicate experiments or a hasty “Hey, Cap! Come hold this up for me a sec?” called out from the doorways of labs or workshops further down.

Steve collapses into one of the curved bamboo chairs that surrounds the huge circular dining table, reaching for the cardboard carton nearest to him. Clint’s wrestling with a tiny hoisin sachet, scowling until he gives up and rips into it with his teeth. It’s just the three of them now, Bruce finally having bowed out and hit the sack a half hour before. Natasha closes her eyes as she savours whatever it is that’s in the shockingly neon red sauce that she’s so addicted to from Hungry Ken’s Kitchen. Steve isn’t fooled though, he doesn’t like to guess how many ways she could kill someone with those chopsticks. If they were anywhere but here she’d never have closed her eyes at all. He feels a warm flush of, something, that she’ll do it here, with them.

He doesn’t miss the way Natasha dabs absentmindedly at the back of Clint’s hand with a spare napkin, collecting the stray dark spots of hoisin. They don’t acknowledge it necessarily, they don’t need to. There’s no one else she’d do it for, and Clint likely wouldn’t stand it from any one else. He’s a little jealous, truth be told. 

“I hear you finally got the hang of email.” Natasha says lightly. Steve can’t hear any mirth or mocking in the question, no sign that Clint’s told her about Tony’s prank. Then again, she’s paid to lie to very dangerous people. The thought doesn’t bring him any comfort. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, he knows he sounds miserable, whiny even, but he can’t summon the energy to care. 

“That’s not a good thing?” Natasha says, looking at Clint for answers. Maybe he _didn’t_ say anything.

“Tony really got to you huh?” Clint says, wiping the corner of his mouth and reaching for the crispy spring rolls. “If he offended you, I wouldn’t take it personally, it’s just that sex is a lot more…commercial these days.”

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” Natasha nods, that answers that question. “Steal one of his cars.” 

Steve grins, despite himself, at least she hadn’t offered to break his wrist. He reaches for a little plastic squeeze capsule of soy, only half full of sauce and turns it over in his fingers. Everything inside him balks at discussing ‘intimacy’ out loud, _hell, you can’t even think the word sex without substituting a euphemism._ He needs to do something though, he knows he’s making huge strides in adjusting to a life out of time, even having turned down SHIELD issue shrinks. If he doesn’t do something about how frustrated and lonely he’s getting though, he knows he’s gonna regret it. 

“What he sent…” He says, tasting the concept in his mouth, he knows voicing this is the only way to make sense of it. He’s still not convinced Natasha and Clint are the best audience but who else is he gonna talk to, Fury? “Is that what it’s all like?” 

Clint draws breath in through his teeth, whistling slightly. “You want something different Cap?” He grins wolfishly, an attempt at drawing the humour out of the situation, but it’s not what Steve’s after. 

“You know what, forget it.” He says, and makes to rise. It’s Natasha’s hand on his sleeve that stops him though, and he sinks back into his chair, glowering. 

“What Clint means, I’m sure,” Natasha says, smoothing over Clint’s social heavy-handedness like it isn’t what she spends half her life doing, “what did you expect?”

The question throws him. He considers it for a moment, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the ridges of the bottle. He isn’t sure he knows the answer to that. _They didn’t say what we lost…_ “I know technology has made huge leaps…” He stops, it isn’t quite what he’s trying to say. “It seemed so cheap, plastic.” He tosses the packet into the middle of the table and knits his fingers together. “I’m not saying it didn’t exist back in…, it’s existed for thousands of years, I just…” 

“Porn’s an industry.” Clint says bluntly. “No one watches it expecting it to be real or classy, although that stuff does exist, I could..”

“It was just a shock,” Steve says before Clint can offer to share his no doubt impressive collection, “I didn’t want,” Shit, is he really going to confess to this. “I didn’t want the first time I saw a woman…” He’s not really sure if he can finish that sentence. He lets his head drop into his hands. “Aww hell, just forget it.” 

 

“Cap…” Natasha sounds hesitant, which is a first. Steve raises his eyes to meet hers. “Are you a virgin?”

_Fuck._

His shoulders slump and he doesn’t even need to answer. Clint offers him a spring roll though, rather than react. He takes one, just to show his appreciation. “I was waiting for the right partner.” He says, “I never did get to try fondue.” He smiles wryly at their blank faces, and shrugs it off, a conversation left lifetimes behind. 

“Women can’t be that different now.” Clint suggests, “You could go on a few dates, see what happens?”

“The hell they aren’t!” Steve says with more heat than he had intended. He avoids Natasha’s gaze and apologises, trying to reach some kind of epiphany. It doesn’t come. “You took a dame out and treated her right and if things went well then,” He clicks his tongue. “Women are far more aggressive now.” He pauses, remembering Peggy’s fist meeting a cocky jaw and smiles. “Well, mostly. They know what they want.” 

“And you’re famous.” Natasha says quietly. A weight lifts from Steve, she gets it, she understands. Integrity, intimacy and trust, a whole mess of issues that Steve can’t even begin to unravel in just two words. _You’re famous._ Performance anxiety doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it. 

“You need to watch pros at work.” Clint says pointing a chopstick in his direction to punctuate his point without taking his focus off his egg foo yung. 

“Watching that stuff won’t clue me in on anything I don’t already know.” Steve says, he’s shocked at how tired his voice sounds, he hadn’t realised this was getting to him so much. 

“I’m not talking about porn Steve.” Clint replies, and Steve is uncomfortably aware he’s now fixed under one of the sharpest gazes in the world. He breaks eye contact first.

“Prostitution isn’t an option either thanks.” He says, a little too bitterly and tries not to notice the silent conversation going on between Clint and Natasha. Even without paying for sex, if they’re scheming to set him up with some agent he barely knows, he’s not interested in pity dates, he screws his hand up into a fist and scowls. 

Natasha’s at his side in an instant, gentle fingers brushing crumbs from his chest and smoothing away the tension in his shoulders, his temples. “Then watch _us._ ” She says, her breath warm in his ear.

~*~

He doesn’t remember agreeing. He’s not sure how he wound up standing barefoot and awkward on the thick carpet of Natasha’s bedroom. The shock of the suggestion had thrown him but Natasha’s insistent tugging, fingers curled into his, pulling him along the corridor had won over it. He vaguely remembers Clint only following when he had scooped up an extra mouthful of lemon shrimp and grabbed another spring roll to eat on the way. 

He isn’t sure what should happen now. _Watch us? Watch what?_ Then Clint comes back in from the en-suite bathroom, rubbing his hands dry on a fluffy towel and Natasha glides into his arms, tipping her face up to meet a lazy kiss. _Oh._

Steve’s really not certain he should be here, he doesn’t know where to put himself. He glances around, trying to find the exit. Natasha breaks the kiss and tugs on his wrist again, guiding him down into a beautifully sculptured wicker chair by the wall. “Sit.” She says. Steve shuts he mouth, unvoiced reluctance dying on his lips. He’s not even sure he can argue.

Clint glances at him and smiles reassuringly. “Go easy,” He says to Natasha in a low voice. “Nothing fancy, lets keep it simple for him.” 

Steve’s pathetically grateful, he’s seen how they spar together, how their bodies move in sync when they fight others. It’s not a huge leap to imagine that translates to the bedroom. He feels a little punch drunk, wobbly with anticipation and nerves. 

The chair feels good under him, solid, he can see the bed, if it gets that far, can see how Clint’s fingers follow every dip and curve of Natasha’s body as he trails his hands up and over her hips, her back as they kiss. Even in the low light he can’t miss the details, he watches Natasha lift the heel of her foot from the floor as her lips meet Clint’s and their tongues slide together. He shifts uncomfortably when Clint’s hands travel down to cup the curve of her ass over black denim. Steve wants to look away, to put himself elsewhere but he’s burning with curiosity. 

He watches as Clint tugs the top over Natasha’s head, exposing her pale skin. Steve’s mouth drops a little open at the realisation of just how flawless she is. Just the barest hint of a few scars, a long one travelling down over the small of her back, silvery and slim. Clint’s fingers trace it almost unconsciously, his face buried in the line of her neck, pressing open mouthed kisses to her throat. 

He’s not prepared for the contrast when Natasha does the same for Clint. His darker skin is criss crossed with lines, a few bullet wounds, an angry spidery mess interrupting the smooth line of his chest hair above his left nipple. He’s breath taking and Steve wants to know how each one came about. The marksman who presents a target. He’s humming with vitality, with life and Steve can’t explain why he wants to run his fingers over every scar. He breathes in deep and tries to relax. Clint meets his eyes and knows what he sees, registers the curiosity. “I’m not the only stealth artist out there.” He says and winks. 

In the distance a helicopter buzzes over the city and the dull stutter of its blades sound far away and inconsequential. “JARVIS,” Natasha purrs into Clint’s jaw, “privacy mode, and turn on a little music, something soft, classic.” 

“I have just what you need Miss Romanov.” JARVIS says and Ella Fitzgerald, familiar and beautiful, comes on at low volume. “Muting now.” JARVIS adds and falls silent as the little click signalling privacy mode interrupts the music briefly. 

Natasha’s hands are deft at Clint’s waist and the ‘snick’ of her drawing his belt through its loops and dropping it to the floor is somehow a signal to them both. She pulls him towards her, fingers tucked into his waistband for another kiss before he throws his hands up in mock defeat and allows her to unbutton his pants, stepping neatly out of the puddle of fabric when she tugs them to the floor. 

There are scars on his legs too, Steve can see what is probably a knife wound leading up the side of one thigh, disappearing under the dark cotton of Clint’s boxer briefs. Steve lets his eyes travel forward, swallowing when he realises he can see the relief of Clint’s arousal outlined thick and heavy against the fabric. He can feel his own body respond, sympathetic? Empathetic? Semantics. A warm heat floods up his neck and he knows he’s blushing. 

“Unfair advantage.” Clint says. He spins Natasha around to face Steve, pressing up against her back. When she stretches up, reaching towards the ceiling and presses her face against Clint’s behind her he brushes the backs of his fingers down her body, wrist to shoulder, around the swell of her breasts along the line of lace to rest above her hips. Steve watches him inhale deeply against Natasha’s hair, her skin, he can’t help wanting to know what Clint knows, what Natasha smells like so close. He widens his eyes when Clint’s eyes slide shut and rather than continuing his kisses along her shoulder he bites down, not hard, but firm. Natasha wriggles against him, and Steve can see how she’s pressing her hips into Clint’s, giving him something to press up against. Clint snaps open her jeans, runs his hands inside the waistband and sweeps them down over her thighs. Her hips rock sideways as she kicks them off and Steve thinks he may never be able to look directly at another lingerie billboard again. 

Clint has Natasha trapped against his chest with one strong arm. He draws back her hair with his free hand before breathing into her ear, licking the edges and kissing the lobe. He lets his hand drop to her waist and then trails his fingers gently further still, over the blue lace of her panties. She tiptoes up in response, and Steve doesn’t miss how she opens her legs slightly, granting Clint access. He touches her gently, over the fabric, pressing up and letting her rock gently into the pressure. He looks up to meet Steve’s eyes and keeps eyes contact as he lifts one elasticated edge and slips two fingers inside the seam. Natasha gasps at the contact and pants breathlessly when Clint moves his fingers in slow lazy circles. 

“She feels amazing.” Clint says in answer to no question Steve would have asked aloud. He changes the angle of his wrist and Natasha draws her breath in sharply, gritting her teeth against something more undignified. “You get so wet sweetheart.” He says against her cheek. Clint draws he hand away and holds his fingers up to the light, for Steve. “See.” Clint says, something like satisfaction plastered on his face. Steve can see, he can see and it makes his mouth water. He nearly protests when Clint licks his own fingers clean, but he snaps his mouth shut and stares at the floor. Natasha glances at him though and he suspects he’s not holding this together at all. 

It becomes a game, Natasha and Clint trying to get a response from Steve. It’s relaxing in a way, lends a sort of purpose, a reason for him to be in this room that isn’t _“Hey I’m pathetic and terrified of what will happen when I have sex for the first time!”_ They comment on what the other feels like, smells like, a running commentary designed to make Steve blush, but not shock. 

Natasha pushes Clint back against the bed and glances at Steve. “You ready?” She says, and Steve knows the question is for him, not Clint. He nods and she gestures for Clint to remove what little modesty he had left. Steve has seen men naked, he was in the army, there are shower rooms packed with agents after missions and it’s really not a big deal, except for how it is. He can’t help but sit forward a little as Clint bares himself, his cock full and well proportioned, smooth skin and taught muscle. Natasha drops to her knees, guiding Clint to sit on the edge of the bed and Steve is enchanted by the curve of her backside, the line of her back as she settles into a comfortable kneeling position and bends over to take Clint in her mouth. 

Clint rolls his head back and sighs. One hand bracing himself on the bed, the other tangled lightly in Natasha’s hair. Slowly he rubs his thumb in circles over her scalp. Steve watches the tendons in Natasha’s neck tense and relax as she works but it’s not enough, he can’t…

“I can’t…” 

Clint looks up, raising an eyebrow and Steve realises he’s going to have to make a request. He swallows and tilts his head, psyching himself up. “I can’t see, I want to.” 

Clint’s grin is breathless and honest. He helps Natasha stand and at his suggestion they pull the comforter and pillows from the bed, making something of a nest on the floor, right at Steve’s feet. Clint sinks to the floor, back against the bed and spreads his legs, he makes a cocky invitational gesture and Natasha laughs before settling into the V between his knees and resuming. Clint rolls his eyes in pleasure and looks at Steve. “Better?” He asks, and Steve can only hum. 

If he thought Natasha beautiful before, it was nothing compared to this. He can see how she uses her tongue to slide over the crown of Clint’s cock, one hand bracing the base before sliding her lips over his length and twisting her grip. Every time her lips meet her fingers and she twists like that it makes Clint buck his hips up just a little. They stay like that for a while, finding an easy, obviously familiar rhythm, Clint occasionally meeting Steve’s gaze and grinning until Clint cards the fingers of both hands into Natasha’s hair and sighs quietly. “Tasha,” he says, “Tasha don’t ruin the main event.” 

Natasha looks a little dazed when she looks up, like her concentration had been interrupted. Clint smiles and runs his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. They kiss briefly as Clint reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the ground as he trails his fingertips over newly exposed flesh. “And the rest.” He breathes. She stands, and the blue lace follows the bra and for the first time Steve is looking as a naked woman unabashed, unashamed. He can’t catch his breath. 

“Stunning, isn’t she?” Clint says. Steve doesn’t answer, he ducks his head and smiles. _You both are._ He doesn’t know how to make sense of that, how to break that apart from what he’s experiencing here. Her response is to crawl up Clint’s body, straddling his lap so he can reach her collarbone, the curve of her breast with his tongue. He presses a thumb into the inside of Natasha’s thigh where there’s an old bruise, making her hiss, he runs it up the inside of her leg until his clever fingers once again find their mark. She plants her hands on his shoulders for balance and rocks gently in response to his touch while he sucks one nipple into his mouth. She whispers encouragement and glances at Steve, licking her lips and smiling, dopey.

Steve has a much better angle now, he can see clearly how Clint has two fingers buried up to the second knuckle inside her and is using his thumb to give her something to buck against. He swallows in surprise when she says something low and guttural in Russian and Clint translates. “Ha, deeper.” Steve knows Clint doesn’t speak Russian and must have looked confused since Clint shrugs and tilts his chin towards him. “Some things it’s worth picking up around Natasha.” 

He changes the angle of his hand and Natasha straightens her back. “Fuck that’s it.” She swears and Steve can’t even pretend to be uncomfortable with the profanity, not when there’s a light sheen of sweat breaking out over her skin and she’s coming apart above Clint. 

When Clint withdraws his hand he doesn’t clean his fingers himself, he offers his hand to Natasha, and Steve finds himself holding his breath when she sucks the fingers into her mouth, just like she had Clint’s cock. 

“Steve,” Clint says, “In the stand beside you, pass me a condom?” 

Steve knows he just blushed again, he can feel his traitorous face betraying him, he’s almost glad of the excuse to turn away from them, digging in the drawer until he find a foil packet, holding it out towards them, fingers trembling. It’s Natasha who takes it, her fingers closing around his briefly and squeezing. _It’s ok, you got this._ He smiles at her whispered thanks. 

Clint’s all business now, Steve can see it in the way he moves, just like in the field, everything he does is with purpose. When he has the condom on and Natasha has caught her breath he flips them both over, so that Natasha is trapped between his legs and under his chest. It isn’t lost on Steve that he’s angled them perfectly, Steve has a perfect view. 

When Clint murmurs close into Natasha’s ear she raises her legs to meet his first thrust and Steve knows he pushed home first time by the way Clint holds them there. He lets Natasha wriggle to adjust and then it only takes them seconds to find a rhythm, rocking up against each other as they pant and writhe. If it wasn’t for the two of them checking in with him occasionally, brief glances and smiles he’d feel just as awkward as when they started this. But it too becomes a game, the two of them trying to distract the other from looking at Steve, so that eventually what Steve is looking at turns into a moment of eye contact and a wave of pleasure as one of them rolls their hips or bites a nipple. Eyes slipping shut and jaws clenching. 

Steve knows it’s coming to an end when Clint grunts, swears and pushes up, supporting himself on one hand as he uses the other to push Natasha’s thigh up against her chest to drive deeper, harder. She pushes back as hard, pressing her hips up off the floor to meet his thrusts and with a bitten off yelp Clint lets go of her leg and pulls her hips towards him, holding her there as he bucks through his climax. He catches Steve’s eye as he comes down, breathing hard. Neither of them look away. 

There’s a moment of calm quiet as they collect themselves and listen to the music. Clint withdraws and disappears to clean himself up while Steve becomes increasingly panicky about what happens now. He needs to leave, he knows that, but there’s no etiquette that dictates how long he should stay. He is acutely aware when Clint returns that there are two naked people here and that there’s no longer a show for him to watch. He wants to stand, to do something but his own arousal is uncomfortably present and isn’t that just peachy. 

“Steve,” Natasha says, her voice startling him out of his thoughts. “Steve you’re scowling, are you alright?”

He nods, and wets his dry lips. “I uh…I should go. You need to…” He has no idea what they need to do now, but he’s pretty sure he’s not part of that. He stands, looking for a jacket that he doesn’t have with him. 

Natasha’s touch is calming, as always. She stands in front of him, between him and the door, a position she’d never attempt with Clint. “You don’t need to go,” she says, “I could help you take care of…” She nods, gesturing towards the tent in his pants and suddenly the whole world goes very small and bright. 

“You want to…” Steve doesn’t know the right jargon to finish that thought, and anything else would sound clinical. 

“You don’t have to, but I’d like to.” Natasha says, she’s stroking his arms now, a solid, regular pressure against his biceps. Steve sinks back into the chair, not a signal exactly but his legs don’t seem to want to keep him upright. 

When she kisses him she tastes faintly like sweet and sour, and something more musky and he absolutely wants more. She runs her hands over his chest, pushing him gently back into the chair and unbuttons his shirt. He catches movement and turns to see Clint straightening the bed and heading towards the bathroom again. 

“Don’t go.” Steve says, without entirely knowing why. 

“I’m not,” Clint replies, his gaze sharp and clear. “I’m just getting a glass of water ok? I wouldn’t miss this show for the world. When he returns he perches at the edge of the bed and Steve could reach out and touch him, if he wanted to.

His pants provide no challenge for Natasha and it’s only when she’s pressing up from under his thighs that he gets that she wants him to lift up so she can pull them down. When he does he yelps in surprise as she takes his boxers with them and in one deft moves exposes him completely. He can’t help but feel like he wants to apologise, for his state of need, he’s almost painfully hard and when Natasha’s cool palm brushes up against the underside of his cock he grips the arms of the chair and tries to breathe. 

“Relax,” she says, “try to enjoy this, nothing bad’s going to happen.” 

“We promise.” Clint adds, and Steve nearly loses it right there. 

He watches nearly detached as Natasha acquaints herself with his body, the hollow in his hip bone, the crease of his stomach where he’s folded from sitting upright. She presses light kisses to his shaft and brushes gently through the light hair at it’s base. When he’s visibly calmed down and he breathing has evened out she presses a firmer kiss to the tip and slides her lips over him. He can feel her tongue pressing and dragging against him and he lets out his breath in a short huff. “Oh.” 

“I know right?” Clint says, grinning. 

“Oh.” 

He knows he can’t last long, and he knows they know it too. When her touches, her kisses are becoming almost too much to bear he realises his knuckles have gone white from where he’s gripping the chair and he’s in danger of breaking it. He jumps when he feel a warm, rough touch against his skin and look up to find Clint watching him with dark eyes. He surrenders his grip to Clint’s hand and watches as he presses tiny circles over Steve’s pulse points, feeling his heartbeat. 

“Jeez I’m going to…Natasha…” He pants, not knowing what to do, how to warn her.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, just go with it.” Clint says, still massaging Steve’s hand.

Steve can’t help it, he lets go, and feels Natasha relax when he goes taut inside her mouth, against her. 

~*~

 

It’s hard for him to fall asleep, despite Natasha’s even breathing against the back of his neck and Clint’s light snores behind her. He’s comfortable that he enjoys her naked form pressing up against his skin in a way that no one else has ever done. 

He’s very aware of Clint’s hand resting on his thigh though, and the fact that he’s so comfortable with it is freaking him out a little. There’s a small part of him that recognises the strangeness of it all. If it wouldn’t raise so many questions, ones to which he’s not even sure if he has the answer to, he may even owe Fury another $10.


End file.
